


Parable of the Miracle

by Vera_dAuriac



Series: A Law to Lovers [2]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Fuck Canon, M/M, Masturbation, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sex, Storytelling, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 12:04:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: Ragnar and Athelstan have openly given into their love for each other and head back to Kattegat. (Roughly Eps 3.4-3.6. Ish.)





	Parable of the Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> So, after a lot of thought and searching my writerly soul, I have a sequel to "Weaving." I haven’t quite reached THAT moment from the show, but if I do in a future story, know that I don’t give a shit about canon. As my good friend, auselysium, said to me recently, canon for this show deserves to be fucked with something hard and sand papery.
> 
> Since this is now all part of a series, I needed a series name. Boethius was a Roman Christian philosopher who a monk at Lindisfarne would have known, plus he provided a great quote to rip off: “Who would give a law to lovers? Love is unto itself a higher law.” Interesting side note, The Consolation of Philosophy from which this quote comes, became fairly well known in medieval England when it was translated into Old English by none other than Alfred the Great.
> 
> Anyhow, you probably can’t read this without reading "Weaving," which, honestly, "Weaving" is short and also one of the best things I’ve ever written, so just go read that first.
> 
> Still don’t own these folks, and that’s still a damned shame.
> 
> ETA I forgot to mention that the story Ragnar tells Athelstan is inspired by a passage in the Sverris saga. I apologize for the omission.

**By Vera d’Auriac**

 

 _You are a miracle_.

Athelstan does not understand why Ragnar says this when they wake together for the first time. Turning in Ragnar’s shielding arms, Athelstan studies the blue eyes that see deep within him, but he still fails to understand Ragnar. Will he ever understand the twists and speed of Ragnar’s unique mind? He thinks not. Yet, he knows Ragnar loves him and that his own life is now tied irrevocably to Ragnar’s. He also knows he would have it no other way.

 _You said miracles are things which are impossible to do. You are impossible. You cannot be real. Therefore, you are a miracle_.

Athelstan kisses Ragnar, no amount of passion and affection in a single kiss adequate to express the extent of his love. Soon Ragnar is atop him, their bodies aligned—shoulders, hips, knees—and fear of the swift-arriving day hurries their writhing to tingling climax. They must clean and dress and pack, for they sail today, back to a new, old life for them both. Without speaking it aloud, Athelstan understands that Ragnar sees the dangers but will insist they be together in all ways and at all times now, and Athelstan knows just as surely that he has not the strength to argue with Ragnar. How could Athelstan be anywhere other than at Ragnar’s side?

On the boat, Floki slinks away from Athelstan as though the very air Athelstan exhales is a poisonous fume. Rollo is little better, scowling before finding a seat on the bench. Bjorn at least nods. Because Ragnar makes no notice of this treatment, Athelstan says nothing, instead losing himself in conversation with Ragnar during the day and in the warm tangle of their bodies at night. They both ache for each other in the most intimate ways, but Athelstan shies from indulging in the presence of those who will never accept him. He yearns to allow Ragnar’s callused hand under his waistband, he shakes, and Ragnar’s stiffness is pressed between his cheeks, and they both find release in their own breeches, but he insists Ragnar wait to take him again.

 _I do not fear them_.

Ragnar says this the night before they are to land in Kattegat. He has sucked kisses to the back of Athelstan’s neck until a line of bruises forms the beginnings of a necklace of desire. Athelstan clutches Ragnar’s hand to his chest.

_Do you fear nothing?_

Ragnar pulls Athelstan tighter, the heat of Ragnar’s chest radiating through Athelstan’s back and around his timid body. They are as close as any two people can be, and no one else lays near enough to hear them as Ragnar begins the whispered story.

_There was once a king whose son worried about what would happen the first time he went into battle. The king asked his son how he would behave if the Seer told him he would die in the battle. The son said he would fight as hard as he could to win a place in Valhalla when he died. The king nodded, and then asked his son what he would do if the Seer told him he would survive the battle. The son answered he would fight with abandon, knowing no man could kill him. The king nodded once more and told his son that he knew exactly what would happen the first time he went into battle._

Lips trace Athelstan’s shoulder, pause warm against his ear.

 _I will love you without fear_.

Athelstan’s vision blurs, his cheeks are damp, but he kisses Ragnar’s hand, finds strength he did not know was there.

 _It is not unlike the Bible where men give up everything—life and fear—for the love of Christ. There is a parable about a hidden treasure. When a man learns there is a treasure beyond compare in a field, he gives up all he has in order to buy the field, because he knows it is better than anything he possesses_.

Ragnar’s fingertips trace the hollow of Athelstan’s throat.

 _I will sacrifice everything for the treasure that is you, my miracle_.

They hold each other, Athelstan continues to cry, Ragnar squeezing until Athelstan’s bones ache, but they do not sleep. Athelstan’s mind races, and he sees himself naked in Ragnar’s arms in moonlight and the gray of dawn. He envisions them raiding together, shoulder-to-shoulder in the shield wall. He pictures them old and bent, huddled together at the edge of an inviting hearth. He does not think more of the Bible or Ragnar’s gods, content to focus only on Ragnar.

 _Tell me another story_.

Athelstan laughs, not sure what he could possibly say to entertain Ragnar. He does not wish to tell him another parable, but what else to tell him? Perhaps the story of Orpheus and Eurydice from Boethius? “Who would give a law to lovers? Love is unto itself a higher law.” Or one of the tales of Boudicca that his sister told him as a boy. Ragnar would like those.

 _Tell me about a place you love_.

With this prompt from Ragnar, all question of ancient Greek stories and warrior women fall away. Athelstan has traveled far more than anyone else he has ever known in England. And as far asea as Ragnar has been, Athelstan has visited spectacular worlds of delight even Ragnar’s expansive imagination cannot conjure on its own. Athelstan smiles as he remembers the high walls and ringing bells, the crush of people and pageantry.

 _Let me tell you of Paris_.

***

At last they sleep, limbs still interwoven, heat still shared. When they wake, once Ragnar eats and makes certain they will reach Kattegat that day, he lays back and smiles at Athelstan.

 _Tell me about Paris_.

Athelstan repeats much of what he told Ragnar in the night but adds the detail about the beauty of the women. Although he aches for no one but Ragnar and would be bereft if should Ragnar ever love another, he likes being able to tell sexual jokes with Ragnar. They are no longer so unequal. He prays Ragnar feels the same. While they talk, Athelstan learns that at least, Ragnar no longer desires Aslaug. But Ragnar’s love of his children remains as unshakable as ever, and Athelstan does not see how Ragnar can keep him and his children. He would never take Ragnar from his sons—he would drown himself first. He can only dream what it would be like to be a father.

Ragnar gives Athelstan Torstein's home. It is one room, with a beaten earth floor, not much bigger than his cell at the monastery and smaller than his room at King Ecbert’s castle, both of which were made of stone. But it is snug and close to Ragnar. He does not know what Ragnar intends to do after he sees Aslaug and the children. He makes dinner for one, the bed for two, his hopes a swirl of possibilities he is terrified to examine, and yet, his mind wanders and conjures and directs him against his will.

The thought of what Ragnar will do to him when they have every night to themselves soon has Athelstan peeling off his breeches. Perhaps Ragnar is right, and this is a miracle. It should be impossible that two men, pagan and Christian, Norse and English, should be able to know each other, worship one another, but the facts of their love abound—he has spent under Ragnar’s touch, and wordlessly induced Ragnar to give up his wife and risk his kingdom to make him do so again and again. The thought overwhelms him, and he agonizes, his desire in his hand, torn at what he is and what he can be to Ragnar. He trembles and climaxes, Ragnar’s name on his lips, face in his mind, soul in his heart. They will need a miracle to make this work. Athelstan closes his eyes; he will have to remember how to pray again.

***

Ragnar comes to Athelstan late, smelling of mead, but still able to fulfill the dreams they have both carried over the wide sea. When they spend together, Athelstan experiences the love he has always sought for, and he cannot believe that if God sits on a throne in Heaven, he does not look down in joy at what he and Ragnar have found together.

After they have reveled in each other again and again and both lie utterly depleted, Ragnar takes one of Athelstan’s hands to inspect as he likes to do, and he tells his plans. Ragnar has called Athelstan a miracle, but Athelstan believes that if either of them is impossible, it is Ragnar, for he has devised a way to elevate Athelstan in the eyes of the Northmen. The people of Kattegat and Hedeby and the rest of the lands that owe allegiance to King Ragnar want victory and plunder and the chance to feast in Valhalla when they die. If Athelstan can give that to them, they will accept him as one of them. Athelstan is dubious, certain there is no amount of plunder Floki will accept in exchange for Athelstan having Ragnar’s love, but Athelstan will do as Ragnar bids. Ragnar says they will raid Paris on Athelstan’s advice, and when everyone witnesses the riches of the city, they will thank Athelstan for their good fortune.

They sleep in the safety of one another, Athelstan drifting off to thoughts of standing beside Ragnar atop the walls of Paris as he throws golden chalices down to his warriors. All the while he whispers that he needs nothing beyond Athelstan. Athelstan’s body pulses with life and contentment, warm and perfect, the nearness of Ragnar and his joy all Athelstan ever desires. Ragnar’s hand rests itself at the small of Athelstan’s back, and he speaks into Athelstan’s ear. _I will conquer the world if it means I can keep you at my side_.

Above them, he sun slips from behind a cloud and reveals on a patch of blue sky a great white cross. Upon the cross are the runes of the Northmen, which Athelstan normally cannot read, but in this moment, he can. The runes say _Love is unto itself a higher law_. The runes shift, blur, reform into the original Latin, but the cross is replaced with a carving of Frigg, smiling her blessing of love upon them.

Athelstan suddenly wakes, a stream of gray dawn light falling through a crack in the window. The soft beam lights Ragnar’s sleeping face and Athelstan feels the presence of God and all of Ragnar’s gods, knows they see him, see Ragnar, take note of their love. They approve, and Athelstan’s heart is awash in the true miracle of his vision.


End file.
